


Behind Closed Doors

by citrinesunset



Series: The Devil You Know [5]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:51:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While helping Peter with a case, Neal runs into Keller, who jumps on the opportunity to harass Neal over his status as a slave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

Standing handcuffed to a railing in a museum lobby was not how Neal had wanted to spend his afternoon.

To be fair, it wasn't exactly Peter's fault. The museum curator had been more than happy to let Neal examine the suspected forgery, but hadn't wanted a slave suspected of art theft to see the security offices or wander around the museum unsupervised. So while Peter continued to talk to the curator, Neal had to wait in the lobby.

He tried to position himself to conceal the handcuffs, and he pulled up his shirt collar in hopes of hiding his slave collar. As long as people didn't notice that he was a slave handcuffed to a railing, he could deal with the indignity.

But as the minutes stretched on, he grew increasingly bored. The curator's caution was silly and pointless. Since he'd arrived, Neal had already spotted five security weaknesses that he could exploit. To amuse himself, he imagined how he would pull off a heist here—which artifact he would target, how he would get in and out....

Still, he couldn't blame the curator for keeping him out of the security office. But did he have to bar him from looking around, too? He could be looking at the exhibits right now.

With his free hand, he reached into his pants pocket. He had a safety pin on him—not a very effective lock pick, but good enough for a pair of handcuffs. He looked around. A security guard, Rick, had been keeping an eye on him. But Rick was nowhere to be seen now. He was probably taking a coffee break. Neal opened the safety pin and stuck in the end in the lock.

Before he could free himself, he heard a familiar voice say, "Well, well. If it isn't Neal Caffrey."

Neal froze and tensed. Gritting his teeth, he stood up and faced the voice's owner.

"Keller. What are you doing here?"

Keller raised his eyebrows. "Enjoying my right as a free man to frequent public places. Your master know you're trying to get out of the cuffs?"

"Why do you care?"

With a shrug and a smirk, Keller said, "I'm just a concerned citizen who noticed a slave behaving suspiciously. By the way, how's slavery treating you, Caffrey? You enjoy sucking a fed's dick every night?"

"How do you know who owns me?"

"It's public record."

Neal already knew that. He'd snuck onto Elizabeth's laptop several months ago and looked up the New York slave database. The results were less horrifying than he'd feared. The website listed the details of his sentence, but the only photographs showed him from the neck up. To Neal's relief, none of the nude pictures they'd taken of him at the processing center were online.

Still, he didn't like to think of Keller looking up information about him.

He looked around, but no one was paying attention to him and Keller. He almost missed Rick, but there was no sign of the guard.

"You have no idea what I do," Neal said. "But if you enjoy believing the worst, go ahead."

"On the contrary. I can buy that you're doing okay. You always were a good little lapdog, Neal. Always letting that little bald guy tell you what to do. Guess it's not much different with Agent Burke and the missus."

"I didn't choose it, you know. This could just as easily be you."

"We both know that isn't true. A guy like me wouldn't be sold to a nice couple in Brooklyn."

"And you think the alternative is better?"

Criminals with a history of violence weren't always approved for private sale. The worst were kept in prisons, but many did grunt work for the government. Those that were offered to the public were almost always passed up by private buyers. Few people wanted violent felons in their homes. Those slaves were purchased by farms and other corporations that wanted cheap labor.

"There's more dignity in it."

Keller was wrong about that. Neal had heard horror stories about the guards at government facilities fucking the slaves. If he was going to be fucked regardless, Neal would much rather have the privileges that came with private ownership.

But he didn't say any of this. He didn't want to give Keller the satisfaction of arguing. He knew that Keller would twist whatever he said.

There were two types of criminals: those who sympathized with slaves, recognizing that they could just as easily be the ones wearing collars, and those who, like Keller, embraced schadenfreude. Neal suspected the latter reaction came down to defensiveness. No one wanted to imagine being enslaved, and it was easier for some criminals to pretend that there was a difference between them and their enslaved comrades.

"Oh," Keller said, "before I forget—I saw Kate recently."

Neal clenched his jaw. He knew Keller was trying to wind him up, and maybe goad him into doing something he'd regret. He was sure Keller would be happy to see him get punished for lashing out at a free person.

"Don't you want to hear how she's doing?" Keller asked.

"I know how she's doing. And she's in France."

He watched Keller's face for signs that he'd been caught in a lie. But if Keller was surprised, he didn't betray it.

"Unlike you, I can still travel." With a smirk, he added, "Katie sends her regards."

Neal couldn't help himself—he started at Keller, stopping only when the handcuffs rattled against the metal railing. Keller, who had kept some distance between them, was just beyond Neal's reach. It was for the best, Neal told himself—punching Keller wasn't worth the time that would be added to his sentence.

Keller took a small step back, ensuring that he was out of range. "You gotta understand, Neal. You can't be there for her right now, so she's gonna turn elsewhere. Four years is a long time."

Through gritted teeth, Neal said. "Stay away from her, Keller."

He told himself Keller was just lying to upset him. He'd warned Kate about Keller, and Kate was smart. She wouldn't give Keller the time of day.

Ignoring him, Keller continued. "And if you think she'll want you back after four years of being a fed's fucktoy, you're gonna be disappointed."

Before Neal could find a way to respond to that, he heard Peter say, "Hey, is there a problem here?"

Both Neal and Keller turned toward the source. Peter was walking over, his eyes darting between the two men. His brow was furrowed. It looked like he'd been too far away to hear what was being said, but he clearly sensed it wasn't good.

"Ah," Keller said, "hello, Mr...."

" _Agent_ Burke. And this is my slave. May I ask what you're doing with him?"

"No harm intended, Agent. I was walking by and I noticed him messing with the handcuffs. Didn't want him to escape."

Peter put his hands on his hips. "Your diligence is appreciated, but I don't need your assistance," he said. To Neal's relief, he didn't look at all convinced by Keller's concerned citizen act.

As Keller turned and walked away, Peter watched him with narrowed eyes. Once Keller was gone, Peter pulled the handcuff key out of his pocket and started to uncuff Neal.

"Hey," Neal said, "what he was saying about me messing with the cuffs...."

"Don't worry about it. Was that guy bothering you?"

"It was nothing. I'm fine."

The cuffs came off his wrist, and Neal gladly pulled away from the railing.

"I shouldn't have left you alone..." Peter said. "Next time someone wants me to leave you like this, I'm saying no."

"It's all right. You didn't have a choice. Can we just get out of here?"

Neal was silent as they walked out to the car, but he had a feeling that their discussion about what had happened wasn't over yet. Sure enough, Peter brought it up again once they were in the car and pulling into traffic.

"You knew that guy, didn't you?"

Neal knew better than to lie. He could have evaded the question, but he decided to be honest. "His name is Matthew Keller. I used to know him, and the guy's trouble. If he's hanging around here, it means he's planning something."

Peter nodded. "All right. I'll look into him and tell the museum to keep an eye out."

That gave Neal some small consolation. If Keller was planning to rob the museum, it was about to get a little harder for him. Maybe he'd regret harassing Neal.

Peter took Neal back to the office with him. Neal was glad to be back among people who didn't insist on him being handcuffed, and quickly immersed himself in whatever work he could find.

When it came time to go home, his mood darkened. Normally, he was happy when five o'clock rolled around, and dreaded the days when Peter worked late. But today, he preferred an endless pile of mortgage fraud cases to what awaited him at home.

He was silent during the drive, but if Peter noticed, he didn't ask him about it.

When they got home, Elizabeth was talking to her assistant on her cell. Neal got the gist that a printer had messed up some signs for an event, and she was trying to fix it last-minute. She paused to give Peter a kiss.

Then, Peter came over to Neal and squeezed his shoulder. "Let's go upstairs so we won't disturb her."

Neal knew exactly what Peter had in mind, and he'd been dreading it since they left the office. But if he objected, Peter might figure out that something was wrong, and the last thing Neal wanted was to talk about it.

So he wordlessly followed Peter upstairs. When they entered the master bedroom, Peter started to loosen his tie.

"I haven't fucked you in over a week," he said casually. "I thought we could do it before dinner. If you need to wash up first, go ahead."

"I'm fine," Neal said.

"Great. Why don't you take off your clothes?'

Neal disrobed slowly. He wondered what Peter would do if he simply told him no. He'd never really felt the need before, even when he was less than enthused about serving Peter. He'd put up plenty of token resistance, and Peter had pushed him anyway, but he trusted that when it came down to it, Peter wouldn't use force with him.

Neal avoided Peter's eyes as he peeled off his underwear. He climbed onto the bed and lay on his stomach.

The bed dipped as Peter sat down beside him. He rubbed Neal's back.

"You feel tense. Everything all right?"

"Yeah."

Peter removed his hand. Neal heard Peter's shoes fall to the floor as he removed them, and the clink of his belt buckle. Neal buried his face in the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

Next, he listened as Peter opened the nightstand drawer. He was getting the lube out. Neal tensed.

"Are you sure you're all right? You're usually more chipper when we get home."

"I'm fine!" Neal snapped. "Can we just get this done so I can leave?"

He knew immediately that he'd used the wrong tone. He braced himself, and sure enough, a split second later there was a loud crack as Peter slapped his ass. Neal squirmed as the pain blossomed.

"Don't use that tone with me," Peter said sternly. But then he massaged Neal's stinging ass, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "I asked you if something was wrong. You can tell me. There's no need to sulk."

Neal pushed himself up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder at Peter. "I'm sorry. Would it be okay if we just...didn't do this today?"

Peter frowned, first with concern and then with anger. "It was that Keller, wasn't it? He said something that upset you. What did he say?"

Neal sighed. "It was nothing."

Peter pursed his lips. "I knew something was wrong. If you don't tell me exactly what happened, I'm going to get the museum to show me the security tape from this afternoon."

Sitting up, Neal said, "He didn't _assault_ me. He was just trying to get a rise out of me."

"Apparently it worked."

"I don't care what Keller thinks. Well fell out months before you arrested me."

"Then what's the problem?"

"He knew I belong to you. I know it's public record, but I didn't think about people looking it up. And he made some crude comments about my duties that I'd rather not repeat."

"So that's what this is about? You're ashamed that people might know you belong to an FBI agent? And you don't want them thinking you're a sex slave?"

Neal raised his eyebrows and gestured at his naked body. " _Thinking_ I'm a sex slave? Keller wasn't exactly wrong."

"Oh, come on. That guy has no idea what you do for me and Elizabeth. Nobody does, because it's private."

"People still assume."

"If I _wasn't_ fucking you, people would still assume I was. You can't control that, Neal. Most people aren't going to look down on you for it. You're a slave—it's not like you get much say in it."

"Wow," Neal said dryly. "That last part makes me feel much better."

"Legally, it's true. But I give you more say than a lot of owners would. Look, I'm not dense—I know you're not completely happy, and there's not much I can do about that. But I thought you were okay with how things are."

"No, I am."

Neal hated being a slave, but he and Peter had more or less reached common ground when it came to sex. Peter paid attention to Neal's preferences, tried to make sure he enjoyed it, and gave him regular treats. Neal was willing to take it up the ass a few times a month if it meant more of his favorite sketching pencils, the occasional glass of wine, and clothes that hadn't belonged to Peter first.

But that was what bothered him. Maybe Keller was right about him being like a lapdog. What if he _had_ given up his dignity?

Peter wouldn’t understand that concern, because Neal's cooperation was always going to benefit him.

But he knew Peter was right. What Neal did in the privacy of the Burkes' home wasn't going to change anyone's perceptions of him. He wasn't sure he believed Peter's claim that it wasn't a big deal. Maybe most people didn't show disdain for him, but Neal didn't believe for a second that slavery wasn't designed to be degrading. Keller might be the biggest asshole about it, but he probably wasn't the only one of Neal's former associates who thought that way.

When it came down to it, though, Neal couldn't stand to let Keller get to him. Rising to his knees, he started to unbutton Peter's shirt.

Peter grabbed his hands, stopping him. "Forget about it," he said. "Take the evening off."

Neal blinked, surprised. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I get it. If I were you, I probably wouldn't be in the mood, either. Why don't you do some painting? I saw what you have on the easel upstairs. It's nice."

Neal wasted no time in climbing the bed and gathering up his clothes. "I'll be in the mood tomorrow. I promise."

"I know," Peter said, though he didn't sound too concerned about it.

Sometimes, Peter managed to remind Neal why he preferred life with him and Elizabeth over some of the alternatives.

He flashed Peter a smile on the way out, and then ran upstairs with his clothes in his arms.  



End file.
